"How the hell are we supposed to go about business as normal?"
"Well," Hestia said politely, "we can have a gift exchange. Muggles do that, don't they?"
"Gift exchange?" bellowed Mr. Dursely. "What could you possibly give us—cauldrons?"
Hestia was still smiling, which, if anything, seemed to infuriate Mr. Dursley further. "Generally you'd some already," she said. "But if you'd like some—"
"I think we'll be quite alright," Mrs. Dursley told her.
"Is there anything—"
"You can take us back to our home."
At this, Hestia lost her smile, and she suddenly appeared much more likely to aim a nasty curse at Mr. Dursely rather than give him a Christmas present. "I'm afraid I cannot," she said coldly. "And you should be glad. You're lucky. Your neighbors—they could all be dead tomorrow. Most of us could be dead tomorrow. At least you're safe."
"Safe!" howled Mrs. Dursley. "Associating ourselves with you—that's the last thing we are. You're dangerous, you lot. You—"
"I'll leave you be," Hestia said at last. "If I'm so dangerous, I suppose you'd be better off that way. I'll send someone else a bit later. Maybe you'll find him a bit less frightening than you seem to find me—"
For a moment, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley looked hopeful, but Mr. Dursely became quickly suspicious. "He's not one of you, then, I hope?"
"Well, we're not going to expect a Muggle to look after you. We don't need any more deaths."
"Deaths! Again! There you go bringing that up again."
"This is war."
"Well," Mrs. Dursley said huffily, "war or not, I still expect my magazines—"
AN: So this is fairly short, but I sort of like the way I ended it, so I decided to leave it as is. Hopefully you enjoyed. Next we'll have some Ron, full of angst and all of that, I imagine. So that will be fun. Though I apparently did my math incorrectly, because it seems rather than finishing on Christmas Eve, it will finish on the twenty-third. So, sorry about that. Also, for those of you who have me on author alert, sorry for the 500 updates today. Thank you for reading.